“Truly, truly.” The administrator waved the vacillating artist away. No longer in need of his services, Takuuna magnanimously allowed him to depart. This Yeerkun did so gratefully, pivoting and hurrying back up the trail they had just descended, tail extended out behind him for balance, his powerful legs carrying him higher up the canyon with every stride.
Though they worked their way closer and closer to the refuge, there was no sign their presence had been detected by those sheltering inside. Takuuna began to wonder, and to worry, that he might have been deceived by the dithering Yeerkun. He would not put anything past these eccentric hermits. Might the pair huddling inside have been warned of his coming, perhaps by the two artists he and his companions had nearly encountered earlier? If so, could they be armed? Impatient though he was to get the business over with, Takuuna restrained himself.
“Position yourself, Trooper Qeengat—and be ready.” The soldier complied. Resting his rifle in a notch between two rocks, he sighted it carefully on the entrance to the shelter. Only when he was ready did Takuuna stand, form a characteristic calling-horn shape with his left hand, and call out to those below.
“The ssoftsskin who callss himsself Flinx! Thiss iss Ssenior Ssecondary Adminisstrator Takuuna VBXLLW! I bring with me the full authorization of the Imperial Authority annexed to the independent world Jasst. I am empowered to detain for quesstioning any and all thosse individualss ssusspected of harboring or contributing to the detriment of thosse AAnn who are living and working on thiss world.” He paused for breath.
“I am ordering you to ssurrender yoursself to my cusstody—now! Truly, make no abrupt motionss or threatening movementss as you come out.” Finished, he remained standing in clear view of the shelter across the canyon.
Both human and AAnn sheltering in the building below had heard the words that echoed off the canyon walls. Rising, Flinx started for the door. “This is a waste of time. This official is never going to let me rest until I answer his questions.” Raising his voice, he shouted toward one of the partially opened windows, “Be content, truly! I'm coming out!”
The clawed hand that gripped his right arm was forceful, but not strong enough to hold him back. He gazed down into glistening, penetrating eyes. “You sshould not go with him. I have met thiss nye. He meanss to do you ill, and did not sstrike me as the type to allow reasson to get in the way of hiss preconceived notionss.”
“He just wants to talk.” Flinx grinned, careful not to show his teeth. “I may not remember how to do a lot, but I can still talk. Given time together, I'm sure I can disabuse him of these false assumptions of his.”
Chraluuc wavered. “At leasst let me try to reasson with him before you ssurrender yoursself. Perhapss we may come to an accommodation that will not require you to travel beyond the boundss of the Tier. It may be that I can perssuade him to conduct his interrogation of you on our premissess.”
Pip fluttering nervous wings against his shoulders, Flinx reluctantly agreed. “All right. But I don't want to be the cause of any trouble for you, or for the Tier itself. If I have to, I'll go with this one to learn what he wants of me.”
“Agreed.” After activating her personal communicator to send a brief message to the Tier's central command explaining their situation, she moved toward the doorway, adding a second-degree gesture of reassurance that was reinforced by the particular twitch of her tail.
On the other side of the canyon, Takuuna saw the old-style door start to swing wide and a figure begin to emerge. “Now—truly!” he yelled tightly, directing his command to his single companion. Without hesitation, Trooper Qeengat fired once.
For such a tiny object, the concussive shell that streaked from the barrel of the rifle packed quite a bit of energy. Striking Chraluuc's left side, it detonated with dreadful force. The impact slammed her back against the wall of the shelter even as it crushed her ribs and compacted several internal organs.
Across the canyon, a shaken Trooper Qeengat saw that he had shot not some renegade suspect alien but a fellow AAnn. Jaws agape, teeth flashing, he stared at what he had done while hissing like a broken water pipe.
“You told me to sshoot! You told me to sshoot!” He repeated the obvious over and over, as if by the force of sheer repetition he could somehow undo what he had done.
“He ssaid he wass coming out. The ssoftsskin ssaid he wass coming out.” This was bad, very bad, a confounded Takuuna thought frantically. His mind raced. Could he somehow blame it on the human? The weight of the pistol he always carried with him in his chest pouch pressed heavily against his sternum. Could he shoot the trooper and then the human, plant his pistol on the latter, and somehow blame the entire incident on the softskin? Questions would undoubtedly be raised as to how the human, resident among the Tier, had managed to obtain and conceal an AAnn handweapon for so long. To his annoyance, every viable explanation he strove to construct kept running into a roadblock of reason.
Reaching out through the gap between open door and solid wall, a traumatized Flinx had managed to drag the seriously wounded Chraluuc back inside the protection of the shelter. Only when he turned her gently onto her back on the dry, padded floor inside did the true extent of her injuries become visible. Between arms and prominent hip, her entire left side had been caved in. There was so much blood, slightly paler than human and lightly tinged with green, that it was difficult to tell exactly what had been damaged and what had survived the impact of the shell. Her eyes were already beginning to glaze over, the double eyelids spasming in repeated nictitation. Alarmed and upset at the emotions raging through her master, Pip hovered overhead, circling the room repeatedly like a trapped bat.
“Chraluuc,” he whispered as he fumbled for her communicator. “I will call for help. Truly.”
Her long tongue emerged. Slipping between her front bottom canines, it lolled listlessly against her chest. “Truly,” she hissed back feebly, “there iss no time.” Trembling uncontrollably, one hand reached upward toward his face. He flinched in surprise as the middle claw drew a slight, downward-curving cut against his left cheek. Reaching up, he felt blood of his own, redder and darker than hers.
“There. I have marked you. It iss all I would ever have been able to do, anyway—but it iss ssomething. It iss all I can leave with you—artisst. When you create, think of me. Our sskinnss are sscaled and tough, our eyes vertical instead of round, and our backssidess not flat—but we are not monssterss, Flinx.” A deep, gagging sound snapped out of her throat, past sharp teeth. The vertical pupils widened. Muscles locked.
The swiftness of her death shocked him. First pain, then fury, roared through him. Voices echoed through his mind. His skull throbbed. He wanted to scream. Darkness roared inside his head. Something snapped. At the same time, unawares, he projected.
Outside, across the canyon, the sky behind Takuuna's pupils and those of the despondent trooper standing next to him grew dark, as if the sun of Jast were rapidly setting inside their eyelids. Both found themselves gripped by a sudden, overwhelming fear. Screaming hysterically, Qeengat staggered backwards, firing his rifle at the sky as if the concussive shells could bring down the clouds. Staggering away from the maddened trooper, Takuuna swung wildly at unseen horrors that were only in his mind. Spinning, pivoting, flailing, he neglected to mind his footing. His right foot stepped on a loose stone, the stone went out from under him, and his feet followed. His head entered into a disagreement with a different rock and, as is the norm in such arguments, flesh and bone lost.
It was quiet again in the canyon. At the far end, The Confection glistened and danced as it partnered with the rays of the setting sun. Yellow turned to gold, white to silver, and every color was heightened, mainlining on sunshine.
After a while, a tall, lone figure emerged slowly from the shelter. It had no scales. Even late in the day, the sun here was very warm, Flinx reflected. Released from the confines of the shelter, Pip shot skyward and commenced a slow, patrolling spiral, searching for the danger that had earlier
been active but was now quiescent. Gradually, her anxiety eased. Her master's already had.
Flinx remembered.
Remembered what had happened to him subsequent to the forgetting. Remembered pretty much everything, in fact. It was as if he had been unconscious while awake, sleepwalking with his eyes open. The only thing he was not sure of was how long he had been that way, living among the Tier. Chraluuc could have told him, he knew. Chraluuc, who was thoroughly AAnn but not even slightly, as she had urgently insisted, a monster. Reaching up, he fingered the curving gash on his left cheek. The wound was still wet. Though it stung, he did not mind it.
A signature, he knew, was a personal thing.
He felt something moist slide down his cheeks. Not blood this time. Tears for a lizard.
Whoever had shot her would not shoot him. Not now. He was oddly certain of that. At the instant of the most profound shock, he had done—something. Something he had done before; an instinctive reaction, a singular defense of self. It would keep him from being shot. Pip's continued calm provided further assurance. She continued to circle overhead, composed and unconcerned. A scan of the canyon showed nothing moving; only the fading evening light that glinted off The Confection, vast and impressive as ever. He had contributed to that, he knew. So had the ill-fated she-AAnn Chraluuc. His friend.
Turning, he squinted up the trail that led back to the Tier compound. They would want to know, would need to know, what had happened to her. They would know soon. He readied himself. With his singular abilities now on full alert, he sensed them coming. Members of the Tier—and others.
Let them, he thought forcefully. Perceiving her master's emotions, Pip dove down to rejoin him. For the first time in a long while, they were both ready for whatever might come.
There were troopers with guns, but they had not come for the softskin. As their leader explained to a somber Flinx, certain discrepancies had been noted in the recent activities of Special Unit Leader Takuuna VBXLLW. Accusations had been made and inferences drawn. As a result, the secondary administrator was wanted for questioning by the Imperial Authority. Concerning Flinx, since no orders had been issued pertaining to a softskin, they had no interest in detaining him.
Their inquiries would have to wait, as Special Unit Leader Takuuna VBXLLW was in no condition to respond to questions. Or, for that matter, to talk. Hissing incoherently, he was led away by the medtech who accompanied the unit of heavily armed troopers. Having been rendered comatose, the administrator's short-term companion, a certain Trooper Qeengat, was in even worse condition. Since he had fired the fatal shot, he had received a slightly stronger dose of whatever idiosyncratic response it was that Flinx had reflexively projected onto both AAnn.
The several members of the Tier who had accompanied and guided the unit of troopers took charge of the limp body of the artist Chraluuc. They did so with resolve and the quiet dignity that comes from living apart from one's own kind. Watching them carry her away, up the trail, Flinx wondered what would be the nature of her final leave-going. The sudden return of his memory did not help. He found that he knew nothing of AAnn funeral practices.
Some of the newly arrived troopers observed with unconcealed astonishment the surprising sight of several of their own kind consoling a human. When explanations were not forthcoming, they concocted their own; some of them as unconventional as what they were seeing. They were still talking about it as they led and carried their two impaired fellow nye away.
Upon his return to the compound, a grieving but recovered Flinx was allowed to utilize the Tier's communications facilities. It did not take long for him to contact the Teacher (which, after all, was busily searching for him). After establishing his precise location, the ship contacted the roving shuttle. It in turn put itself on a rapidly descending downward course for the Tier's compound. Once again, having no instructions to the contrary, the commander of the AAnn force that had been sent out to bring the administrator Takuuna back to Skokosas ignored the activities of the resident human. Any qualms he held about allowing a softskin to travel freely were assuaged by the reassurances of members of the Tier that this particular remarkable human, at least, posed no threat to the Imperial interests on Jast.
Nothing more than a tourist, they informed the officer, the softskin just wanted to go home. In contrast to everything else they told him and his subofficers, that last was at least partially a lie. Flinx had no home. But he saw little utility in complicating the conflicted officer's confusion.
While it might not be a home in the traditional sense, the sight of the Teacher's shuttle waiting for him on the Tier's landing strip still aroused warm feelings of familiarity within Flinx. For reasons he could not identify, that warmth seemed slightly tinged with green. Reflecting back on his experiences on this world and on everything that had happened to him, he was struck by the profound realization that he had yet again cheated Death. Exiting the formal entrance to the Tier's compound, he found himself wondering not for the first time when Death was going to get tired of being hornswoggled.
The Ssaiinn Xeerelu accompanied him partway. “Though there remain a few who feel otherwisse, friend Flinx, the majority of uss, often to our own ssurprisse, are ssorry to ssee you go.”
I'm not, Flinx thought as Pip shifted position on his left shoulder and neck. What he said was, “I'm afraid I'm bound to a different calling. Besides, artists, like their art, should never linger too long over the same venture.”
“Truly,” Xeerelu agreed sagely. “Sstill, you are alwayss welcome here. You will alwayss be lissted on our rollss as a full member of the Tier.” The Elder added a second-degree gesture of mild enjoyment. “The only one of your kind, inssofar as I perssonally am aware, to be sso accounted among the nye.”
“I take it as an honor,” Flinx replied honestly. “Chraluuc—Chraluuc wanted me to be a bridge between our species. An all-too-narrow bridge, I'm afraid.”
“A bridge nonetheless,” she hissed thoughtfully. “One that perhapss, ssomeday, otherss can usse to cross. A bridge may be narrow, but it only needss to be wide enough for two to meet in the middle and clutch throatss.” So saying, she turned her head sideways and extended one hand toward Flinx's neck. Each lightly, briefly, grasped the other's throat before releasing their respective grips.
“Good eating, Flinx LLVVRXX. Think of uss the next time a work of art pleasuress your ssensses. You have left ssomething of yoursself here among uss, and we view it favorably.”
“You people saved my life,” Flinx replied simply. “It was an effort worthy of a high Tier.” Turning, he lengthened his stride as he headed for the waiting shuttle.
Xeerelu watched the softskin go. As always, it was an unsettling sight. No tail twitching typically from side to side, no relaxed side-to-side swaying with each step, no slight bobbing of the head. For all its body's slackness, the stride of the softskin was surprisingly stiff. Strange creatures—though far more like the AAnn than the detested thranx. A pity about that alliance, she mused.
Not for the first time, Xeerelu felt that if politics were left to the artists, the galaxy would be a more congenial place.
Takuuna blinked. He had stopped babbling incoherently some time ago. His body rocked ever so slightly to an unmistakable sense of movement. He was lying on his back, on a medical platform, ranged on either side by several monitoring devices. In response to his restored awareness, a medtech materialized. Hovering above him, yellow eyes blinking actively, the tech checked the readout he held in one hand.
“How are you feeling, Secondary Adminisstrator Takuuna?”
The figure on the platform struggled to recall what had happened. He had been crouching behind some rocks, waiting for the human to emerge from its hiding place. It had done so and—no, that was not right. He remembered now. The human had declared that he was coming out, but the figure that had come forward had been that of the AAnn who had been with him—and Trooper Qeengat had shot her. At his, Takuuna's, urging that he shoot quickly. There had been a mo
ment of shock, of furious cogitation over what to do next, and then—and then …
Madness had descended.
The administrator shivered as he remembered. An overpowering terror had taken control of him. Fear arising out of nothingness. He could not fathom it then, and he could not explain it now. It had flooded his mind, overwhelming rationality, thought, everything. Thinking back on it, he reflected that it was a wonder he had not thrown himself over a cliff and dashed himself to bits. If a suitable cliff had been handy, he did not doubt that he would have done exactly that. As for his companion …
He looked to both sides. There was no sign of Trooper Qeengat.
When queried, the medtech looked uncomfortable. “The medication that hass resstored your mind hass thuss far not proven as effective on the trooper in quesstion. He iss sstill being treated, truly. It iss hoped that when we reach Sskokossass and he iss placed in an advanced medical facility, hiss mental acuity and balance can be returned to normal. Someday. It may be that he received a sstronger dosse of whatever it wass that affected the both of you.” The medtech's unease gave way to curiosity.
“What wass it that unssettled you sso powerfully, anyway, Adminisstrator?”
Takuuna struggled with the question. “I honesstly cannot ssay, valued technician. But I promisse you that I will ponder on it, and prepare a ssuitably relevant report as ssoon as anything comess to mind.”
The medtech moved to check a readout on a monitoring instrument. “You are lucky you sstill have a mind, Adminisstrator. For a while I wass doubtful that we would be able to bring you back—from wherever it wass you had been ssent. Trooper Qeengat hass not been sso fortunate.”
And with any luck, he never would be, Takuuna mused. It would be most convenient if the trooper would be thoughtful enough to remain out of mind permanently. That way, there would be no one to contradict the story the administrator was already beginning to concoct. Dangerous softskin sheltered by naïve Tier of reclusive artists while collaborating with delusional, renegade female artisan. Suspicion combined with abusive verbal threats forced him and his companion to defend themselves, albeit a bit hastily, resulting in a tragic but accidental shooting. Yes, that might work. With neither brainsick Trooper Qeengat nor the dead female able to contradict his story, he could be very persuasive. The human's version of events he would deal with later.
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